Dawn broke over the Hollow Waters, not with light, but with clarity.
The fog had thinned. The whispers quieted. And in the sky, the watching eyes had closed—finally, at peace.
Yet the tree at the center still wept its threads, and the lantern, though lit, flickered with unease.
Nima stood beneath the tree, her cloak damp with dew and blood—Morya's blood. Her friend lay beside the skiff, her breathing shallow, face pale.
"You shouldn't have shielded me," Nima said, voice trembling.
Morya managed a faint smile.
"Then we'd both be unraveling."
Erielle emerged from the shadows of the well, the broken scissors in her hand glowing faintly now, humming with rethreaded power.
"The Hollow holds—for now. But the cost is not yet paid."
Nima rose. "What more must I give?"
Erielle looked at her, her golden-veined eyes filled with mourning.
"The Hollow saved what it could, but not all threads returned to where they belonged."
She turned her gaze to Morya.
"She walks the edge of the rift now. Her soul… is caught between what was and what is."
Nima gripped the lantern tighter.
"Then I'll go back in."
"You cannot. Not again. The river won't hold for you twice."
"Then take me instead. We trade—my thread for hers."
The silence was sudden and deep.
Even the tree stilled.
Erielle stepped forward.
"That is the Weaver's Debt. The oldest law of memory. You offer your place in the Loom… so hers can be rewoven."
Nima nodded.
Morya's voice rasped from the ground.
"No. I won't let you."
Nima smiled, eyes brimming.
"You already did. When you shielded me."
Erielle knelt beside them both.
"Then say the vow, Flamekeeper."
Nima held the lantern high, and the light flared one last time.
"I am Nima Elaye.
Flamekeeper of the Loom.
I give my thread for hers.
May the Hollow hold her,
And may my name become a whisper in the river."
The scissors glowed white-hot.
Erielle cut the space between them.
And for a moment, everything reversed.
Morya gasped, breath filling her lungs like a tide. Color flushed her cheeks.
But Nima—
Nima was gone.
Not erased.
Rewoven.
Later, as the sun rose—a true sun, with light and warmth—Morya sat alone beneath the silver tree. The lantern still glowed, but no name was carved into its base anymore.
Just a symbol:
She would remember.
She would carry the name of the girl who gave herself to the Hollow.
Nima Elaye.
Flamekeeper.